


Adventures in Property Management

by lynnmonster



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, suggestion of future OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/pseuds/lynnmonster
Summary: After the events in London, the team works on building all kinds of things.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimera/gifts).



Queen’s House in Greenwich may have been the surprise secret headquarters of the Eye, but even taking into account the various built-in secret passageways and the skill of the team, it was no place for five Horsemen on the run from the law to live — or even to risk frequenting too regularly.

Hence the countryside bed and breakfast in a small hamlet nearby.

The dilapidated property had been acquired under one of Dylan’s false identities, using funds from the Eye’s coffers which were now, apparently, all theirs. The team was slowly and unskillfully bringing it up to operational status, stretching out repairs beyond even the length of time it would normally take a small number of amateurs to do. Their efforts were hampered by, in no particular order:

  * visits to the headquarters’ fascinating archives,
  * no real desire to operate an inn,
  * truly top-notch craftsmanship from competitive perfectionists,
  * ignorance of standard wisdom concerning large-scale construction endeavors,
  * laziness in the face of a lack of urgency,
  * impromptu hand truck races,
  * taking advantage of the construction period to cover workshop time spent customizing apparatus for future tricks, and
  * also taking advantage of the construction period to cover the addition of hidden passageways of their own.



***

“Ow! You cocksucking motherfucker pillow-stuffing _cock_! You bite me, I bite you back!” Lula snapped her teeth at the bird pecking her ankles and scurried back to the main house.

She had volunteered for egg-collection duty, since cooking wasn’t really her thing, but doing a geek show and occasionally keeping a pigeon or two did not qualify one to care for chickens as much as she’d originally assumed. They were contrary little bastards, the lot of them.

She stormed back into the side entrance with feathers in her hair and all over her sweater, and bird poop on her pants. Merritt’s eyes crinkled as he laughed at her.

She growled and smacked her filthy gloves into his stomach, hard, as she stomped past.

“I’m taking a bath. Eggs are in the basket outside the door. Breakfast better be ready by the time I come down if you know what’s good for you.”

“You coming is always good for me, baby!” he shouted after her as she headed up the stairs.

“Pervert,” she rolled her eyes as she trudged up the steps. The balustrade under her hand was a work of art that Dylan had carved with intricate ivy patterns, but the aging steps themselves still creaked like they were about to cave in under her booted feet.

***

“Drink it while it’s hot, there’s a luv,” Miss Hattie said, handing Jack his tea over the newsstand counter and sliding the dish of homemade biscuits — which were actually cookies — closer to his hand.

Jack blew across the surface of the liquid and took the first, welcome sip. He had developed a passionate love for builder’s tea, and drank it incredibly strong, hot, and sweet. “Just like you,” Lula had cooed once, grabbing his cheeks and then his other cheeks and then his tea had gone cold before he’d gotten back to it. He always picked up a cup from Miss Hattie’s stand whenever he walked or rode his motorbike into town, especially since it was chilly enough for his face to go numb and flushed by the time he got to the high street.

Miss Hattie was his favorite, and vice-versa, but Jack was the darling of all the elderly ladies about town. He would sit and do card tricks for them, and was a fairly mean bridge player when they got enough bodies together for a game. He started off trying not to cheat but they proved far worse than he could ever hope to be, with all their years of devious practice.

He took one of the offered cookies and marveled at the awesomeness of his life. He’d found the Eye. He’d met the Eye. He’d become part of the Eye. He’d helped pull off one of the most astounding tricks ever, and was going to go down in history for it. Hot girlfriend. Hot dude friends. Cool bike. Happy, crazy home.

Happy, crazy new friends.

A couple of weeks ago, halfway into a no-longer-surprisingly cutthroat game of Spades, he had shuffled and dealt when Agatha asked, “How is the construction going, Jack? That old place was turning into a safety hazard, we’re just so glad someone has taken it on.”

He was meandering through a genial but vague response when he remembered that he’d introduced himself to her and everyone else as John and had been careful to always use his cover identity. “—coming along but we found some more dry rot, and, wait, what did you call me?”

“I see the occasional paper, you know,” Miss Hattie had said, winking at him and tapping her her nose sagely. “I do own a newsagent’s. Why don’t we just call you Jack, dear. Won’t that be less confusing for everyone?”

These ladies were _crafty_. And wonderful. And they obviously adored him.

He adored them all right back.

The bell tinkled as someone came in the front door of the tiny shop. “Thanks for everything, Hat,” he said, and stole a second cookie on his way out to the hardware store.

***

Danny was the one who developed an addiction to home improvement shows. He was the the most tightly-strung perfectionist of the lot, so it wasn’t entirely surprising that he actually took _notes_  while glued to a screen for hours, but at some point Merritt or Jack or even occasionally Dylan would take the notebook and pencil out of his hands and drag him outside or steer him toward the dinner table.

Lula was not the nurturing type and insisted that Danny would eventually eat whenever he got hungry enough, but Merritt protested that he wouldn’t be eating with _them_ and Lula couldn’t really argue with that.

(Dylan tried to let one of the others get to Danny first, because whenever he gently pried Danny’s long-fingered hands loose, and Danny looked up at him with his gaze unfocused and looking slightly dazed and vulnerable, well. Dylan tried to let one of the others get to him first.)

***

They were a criminally good-looking bunch — literally, ha ha! — and Merritt hit on all of them with genuine _joie de vivre_.

As long as it made Danny all adorably awkward and made Dylan smirk condescendingly in a way that was so carnally appealing, he certainly wasn’t going to stop any time soon. And now that Jack and Lula let him woo them into a _really_  good evening on occasion, he wasn’t going to stop at all. Like, ever.

Merritt had his suspicions that Danny had the occasional _really good evening_  with the pair as well, since a couple of times when he appeared to be working up toward a spectacular blowout of a stress spiral, he’d come down to breakfast looking relaxed and catlike and heavy-lidded instead.

Merritt wondered if their _really good evenings_  could overlap some beautiful day in the future, and, goal in mind, resolved to redouble his efforts.

Oh, look, there was Danny’s ass right now!

***

Danny’s housemates were such an ass-grabbing-y bunch of ass-grabbers.

“Hey, Merritt,” he said, without jumping or even turning around.

He’d gotten used to having his ass grabbed in passing by everyone (except Dylan), and resorted to the only turnabout he could really inflict, which was simply doing the same right back to everyone else (except Dylan). He could recognize everyone by the spread of their hands or the feel of their butts alone (except for Dylan, but to be fair he’d have to test that empirically before stating for certain that he couldn’t, thank you very much, and was annoyed to find that he’d very much like to try).

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” Merritt asked.

Danny gave a little wiggle and Merritt chortled with delight. Danny was grinning back at him before he could stop himself.

These people were ridiculous. He slapped Merritt’s hands away.

“Did the delivery come yet? We need to get started on the third floor bathrooms, and I think you just volunteered.”

“No fun,” Merritt pouted, but went off to check anyway.

***

Everyone had their own rooms; even Jack and Lula weren’t officially cohabitating. And although the crew was not generally respectful of much, their rooms were basically sacrosanct.

The only thing on the property that came close to being treated with the same reserve was Dylan’s workshop. They were using an old barn as a communal construction area; Danny and Jack had spent a gleeful afternoon knocking down dividers to create a large open area, while a few of the stalls had been left intact to house smaller projects. Work for property improvements and work on personal projects intermingled on the main floor.

Dylan had taken one of the smaller outbuildings for his own, though, and the rest of them generally didn’t venture beyond the threshold if they stopped by.

“Danny, would you go get Dylan? He’s holed up in that shed again and if he misses dinner you know Merritt’s going to have a cow,” Lula said, with far too sweet a smile on her face, the kind she wore when she was up to something.

Danny gave her a suspicious look because she was never the one to care about getting everyone to the table, but she just winked and turned back around like she knew he was going to do it anyway. Protesting would only make a big deal out of something that had no reason to be any kind of deal at all, so Danny went.

She probably just knew he would always try to bring Dylan back to the rest of them, because he couldn’t stand the way Dylan kept himself apart.

Sure, he would goof around with everyone, and they’d all grown closer, but sometimes he acted like he was the dad of their little group just because he was their leader. Merritt was older than Dylan by at least half a decade, for christ’s sake, and he certainly didn’t need Dylan to be a  _dad_.

But Dylan never instigated the kind of playful bullshit the rest of them started, and things just got awkward when anybody tried to flirt. Of course they still pranked him — nobody was exempt — but since his return pranks were always devastating, they didn’t do it too often.

Danny trudged over the hill in the twilight, toward the small structure spilling light and what sounded like a jazz station through the half-open door.

He rapped twice on the jamb, but Dylan didn’t look up. He was standing and sanding something small by hand, and there was a look of steady concentration on his face. His brow was slightly wrinkled and he had wood chips clinging to his sleeve. Danny took a deep breath. Above the comforting scent of sawdust was a mineral note of honest sweat.

It was enough to pry him out of his inertia and stride towards Dylan.

Dylan glanced up at the movement, noticing Danny for the first time. His eyes brightened gratifyingly, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. But Danny continued moving forward until he walked right into Dylan and then kept on going, just like Dylan had done to him in the marketplace in Macau, only in reverse.

Whatever Dylan had been working on dropped to the ground. Danny kept going until their momentum ran to a halt against a wall, and he was pressed up against Dylan’s front, with no more give behind them.

He grabbed Dylan’s work shirt in both hands and found himself looking at Dylan’s mouth. Danny swallowed with some difficulty and raised his eyes to finally make eye contact.  

Dylan’s eyes were dark and wide, and focused entirely on him.

“Dylan,” he said.

“Please,” he said.

And one of those things must have been right, since Dylan said, “Okay, Danny. Okay,” and put his hands on the side of Danny’s face and kissed him.

It was soft and thorough and ruinous.

When the kiss ended, Danny’s legs felt embarrassingly unsteady. He slowly let go of Dylan’s shirt and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Good. Lula says come to dinner.”

“Oh, she does, does she?” Dylan asked, smirk visible in the sound of his voice, if not on his face.

Danny reeled him in for another, fiercer kiss, and made absolutely sure he’d be able to identify Dylan’s hands and/or ass in the dark before stepping back away.


End file.
